Imagine street lights that are self-constructing, self-repairing, self-replicating, solar-powered, and carbon-negative because they’re just bioluminescent trees
Imagine fibrous plants that grow super-strong spider silk. Plants that grow as fast as bamboo but as strong as steel
Imagine medicine coming in fruit instead of pills. Oh you want to transition? Here, take this HRT shrub. Put it on your windowsill, water it daily and throw some compost at it every once in a while, and eat one berry per day
Imagine crops that are more nutritious, disease- and pest-resistant, and grow in harsher climates and soil conditions, helping to provide more reliable food to impoverished peoples with no downside whatsoever oh wait we already have those don’t we
We can’t have rad forest cities full of dope biotech if we’re too scared to let people do the research that’ll lead to that. Science has spoken: the fear is unjustified, and GMOs are safe. Let’s embrace them!
From now on? I thought we already were! 😬
So here’s an interesting little bit of biotech that’s being worked on to help combat food insecurity…
Errr, first off, a little background? Plants have three different types of photosynthesis, based on the biochemical pathways the plant uses to capture CO₂ and make sugars for energy. The most common one is C3 photosynthesis, and it’s used in because it’s very old. This kind of photosynthesis probably evolved sometime in the mesozoic era, back when there were still dinosaurs wandering around.
Another type is C4 photosynthesis, which is a more recently evolved pathway. C4 carbon fixation is a lot more efficient, provides plants with more energy, and captures more CO₂. It evolved in environments with lots of light, so it’s common in warm parts of the world. In fact, C4 photosynthesis is so efficient that even though only about 5% of plants use it, they account for about 23% of the carbon fixation of all terrestrial plants!
C4 also the pathway used by sugarcane, which is what gives sugarcane one of the highest photosynthetic efficiencies of any plant. It’s also the pathway used by maize (corn) and sorghum (a popular grain in parts of Africa).
Anyway, that brings me to the genetic modification part.
The modified rice would theoretically be able to give higher crop yields, and do so using fewer nutrients and resources. As an added bonus, it would also help remove excess CO₂ from the atmosphere. The efforts are being coordinated by the International Rice Research Institute, who’ve received millions of dollars in donations towards the project – they’re the same organisation behind the golden rice project which was about making rice more nutritious for people affected by food scarcity.
Anyway tl;dr science is cool, genetic modification is a good thing, and it can be used to help end world hunger.
Attacking people who write fic that isn’t the fic you want to read won’t make them suddenly stop writing the fic they want and start writing the fic you want.
They may stop writing in your fandom completely, and there won’t be more of the fic you want; just less fic overall.
Or, they may double down out of spite and write even more of the fic you don’t want, because fuck you, you entitled little goblin.
sometimes I think about bisexual Harry Potter, and about how it could have changed so much of the story, and right now I’m thinking about how it could have related to Dudley
like, when Dudley laughs and sneers at him at the beginning of OotP. “Who’s Cedric? Your boyfriend?” Dudley asks Harry with an ugly grin on his face.
And Harry breaks down and cries, because yes, Cedric was his boyfriend, and now he’s dead. Dudley just stares at him, pale with shock. Harry has never cried like this in front of him, not once in all these years. Harry always has a witty come-back, thinks he’s so bloody smart, and this is something Dudley can’t deal with.
And then the Dementors come, and it makes Dudley see the kind of person he is. Harry protects them, and even though Dudley can’t see the dementors, he somehow knows that it wasn’t Harry who did this.
Harry of course expects that Dudley uses this new knowledge of Harry against him – he packs his bags, waiting patiently to be kicked out as soon as Dudley tells his parents they got a raging queer living under their roof – but nothing happens.
In the next few days, Dudley is quiet and withdrawn. Harry thinks it’s because the dementors scared the crap out of him, and he’s glad, because Dudley’s friends are never there anymore, and Dudley seems to be too lost in thought to be violent.
The night before Harry gets picked up by the Order, Dudley walks into Harry’s room unannounced and completely startles Harry. This never happens. Dudley looks pale, even scared. Everything about this is so absurd that Harry forgets to put his guard up like he usually does around Dudley. He watches his cousin closely as Dudley sits down uncomfortably on Harry’s chair, his eyes nervously darting around the room.
“When did you know?” Dudley asks eventually. It’s obviously tormenting for him to say it.
Harry is confused. “What do you mean?”
Dudley looks like he might choke on his tongue, trying to get the words out. “That you’re – you’re -”
i’m watching an art theft documentary and they’re interviewing this art history professor from new york who was asked to go with the fbi to authenticate a rubens that had been stolen but it was a sting operation so they had to pretend like they weren’t the fbi, that they were some private buyer about to pay $3.5 million for it, and the fbi was like “this is a VERY delicate operation because you never know how they will react to what you have to say so let the agent do all of the talking, don’t say a word to anyone just nod if it’s the rubens, the last operation we did the guy in your position got shot because things went wrong in a second” and then it cuts to the professor’s interview and he says “i wasn’t going to fly down to miami to be a part of an undercover fbi sting operation to handle what could be rubens’s aurora and just NOT say anything. i was gonna have to ad lib a little” and then he tells the interviewer that when he & the fbi agent got to the hotel while he was examining the painting he started lecturing the other people, first on how badly they had wrapped it, and then about like how it had been painted, the history of it, what the subject was and what she was doing, etc etc, and he was like “i hadn’t taught a class on rubens in 15 years, so for me it was like being back in the classroom except my students couldn’t leave”
at one point during the deal the professor turned to the woman selling it and he said “isn’t this just the most beautiful rubens you’ve ever seen outside of a museum?” (because the fbi had told him earlier that this piece had been stolen from a museum) and THEN he said “where on earth did you get it from?” and the group of people the woman had with her was like taxidermy-fox.png but the woman was like “inheritance” can you IMAGINE the fbi agent about to have a fucking aneurysm when this random guy you’ve brought in just to nod if it’s the right painting not only starts giving an impromptu lecture but then he asks how they got it
My number one tip for straight men (I mean, it could conceivably work for other genders and sexualities, but you’d have to adjust it quite a bit) is: inagine they’re a man.
Imagine that you just randomly told some bloke in a pub that he has beautiful eyes.
That you walked up behind your coworker Jim and started caressing his neck and shoulders while talking to him about the budget.
That you just sent a large and unexplained bouquet of flowers to Darren in Accounting.
That instead of complimenting a coworker on her breasts, you complimented him on his dick.
Does the action now seem weird? Uncomfortable? Do you no longer want to do it now that it isn’t directed at somebody you are sexually attracted to?
That strongly suggests that your action has a sexual aspect to it and therefore probably counts as sexual harassment!
I have a large, colorful tattoo on one arm. I’ve had multiple strange men cross a room to tell me how awesome it is, frequently while I’m at work, and it has never made me uncomfortable.
A couple of weeks ago, someone yelled out a car at me ‘I FUCKING LOVE YOUR BOOTS’, which was awesome.
It’s just… it’s really not hard to compliment people in a way that isn’t creepy, if your goal is actually to compliment them and not to slide a ‘btw I’m thinking about fucking you’ under the radar.
i just had a lightbulb moment about women flirting with each other vs men flirting with women
at least for me, my primary mode of showing someone i like them involves a lot of compliments, but it’s always things they can control… things that are representative of what i like about them? that sounds weird, but it is totally about enjoying the parts of them they CHOSE, not just bc they have a bangin’ bod or whatever
but i feel like this is much more likely to be the way women bond (whether romantically or platonically) than when there’s a man involved. we look for something to compliment each other on, and we break bread complimenting each other.
it’s not sexual. it’s not gross. it’s appreciative of that person’s individual identity.
all starters: hey im just gonna follow behind you! i’m pretty new around here so i’ll just let you lead the way if thats ok
magikarp:
LESSS GOOOOO!!! WHATS THAT UP AHEAD I THINK ITS A GYM TODAYS GONNA BE
THE DAY I EVOLVE!!! I LITERALLY CANNOT WALK OR BREATHE ON LAND AND IM
STILL FASTER THAN YOU HURRY UP!!!!
the princess stayed in the tower and read books about better girls, where their hands learned how to hold swords, where they rode in on horses. i gave her books as often as i could. she devoured them.
her princes saw her and pretended to be scared off by dragons. got too lost in the thicket. didn’t want to handle it.
“tell me what it’s like, out there,” she whispers to me for the millionth time. i take her from The Throne into her bed, tucking her in and making sure her feet are covered.
“boring without you” i say as always, “but i did bring back a great story.”
i tell her about how the stars change beyond the equator. how there are places it looks like there are twin suns. how the desert crawls into you but so does snow. i talk about the taste of fruit and promise to bring her back some. she falls asleep while i murmur about rivers, and then in the morning i bring her from bed to Throne, even though she can do it on her own. sometimes she likes help, is all, and i’m happy to give it.
she doesn’t want help getting dressed. the men come for me, blindfold masters i have almost befriended. the path we take away from her is always different, carefully manufactured so i don’t know exactly where she’s located. after all, a lady might get ideas about things.
they let me go in the queen’s room. i report findings, ask for fruit in the next week’s supplies, am told not to spoil the princess, that she must be kind and waifish and wanting when the prince comes. i spend an hour suggesting that fruit might turn the blood sweeter and am allowed six oranges.
in the next week, she marvels over them. turns them in her calloused hands. smells them. holds them until she can’t control her curiosity, devours them. i bring her books about rivers. i bring her books about deserts.
“when is our birthday?” she asks me tonight. i’m knitting her a scarf for it.
“soon,” i tell her, “i’ll come by.”
she rolls onto one side, looks up at me in the dimming light. “I’m glad they chose you to be mine,” she says, and i drop a stitch. my heart sings against the inside of my wrists. i blow out a candle so she can’t see the blush and i can’t see her lips. i know what she means, i say. i know what she means.
it’s twenty-three for both of us. i bring her a cake we both eat, her on her throne and me on the floor. i am in the middle of laughing when she falls silent in the still night. “nobody else ever comes for me,” she whispers. i say nothing.
we have more cake, we go to sleep. i don’t know if she knows i’m awake, but i hear her crying.
the men come, the men take me. the one that smells like cedar always laughs at my jokes. the queen half-hates me because i remind her of “that nasty thing” they forced on their daughter.
“the left wheel needs oil,” i mention, “she’s having trouble turning again.”
the queen’s nose goes up. she never reacts when i mention her daughter’s wheelchair by name – doesn’t find it funny we call it a throne, thinks it’s well enough to leave alone.
“well, she’ll have a prince in this next month coming for her,” says the queen, “i’ve arranged it all,” says the queen, “he’s … had the situation explained to him first this time. i thought it would be best,” says the queen. “we’re paying him…. quite a lot for his effort,” says the queen.
situation. she means that her daughter can’t walk very far. she means the situation of towers. i excuse myself. i find my girl books about turning down marriage. i’m not sure why. it’s all she’s ever wanted.
they blindfold me and take me. cedar laughs at my jokes. the sawdust one is here this time, even he chuckles at a few. we ride horses through places i’ll never see clearly.
“so according to the queen this is the last time i’m needed, huh?” i ask them as they walk me blindly up too many stairs for my girl to make it down, “i’m sorry i never made your acquaintance.”
cedar laughs. he takes off my blindfold and for a second, lets me see his face. “it’s been an honor,” he says, shaking my hand, “you’ve been a perfect lady.”
i spend the day with my princess pretending i am not peeling apart from my bones. i just want her to be happy. to get to come home.
it’s late. “do you think in a past life i was a mermaid?” she asks.
“almost definitely,” i tell her.
it’s quiet for a while after. “what if,” she whispers, “i don’t want to leave?”
i sit up and look at her from across the room.
“it’s just,” she says, “i have you here and all the books i need and nobody makes me walk too long and i don’t feel like… like i’m wrong here.”
i want to tell her she’s never been wrong. that she’s always fit into my heart like a puzzle piece. that, more importantly, the leadership i see in her glows like a fire – that, no matter her body, she’s always been kind and gentle and smart and sweet. a princess that could bring a nation to her feet and do so lovingly.
“it will be okay,” i say, “there’s more fruit to discover.”
she doesn’t say anything. i think i’ve ruined something by accident, but i don’t know what. i don’t really sleep. i don’t say anything when the men come take me.
the world outside without her is boring. no mermaids. i put my hand in a river once a day, just thinking about her.
two weeks later i am awoken by my name, and a voice i recognize perfectly. cedar stands above me in the darkness. “i know two things in this world,” he says to me, “and one of them is about love.”
this time we make the trip without blindfolds. i see the squalor they keep her in. i see the waste surrounding her castle, the terrible place she’s in. rage fuels my footsteps even when they start flagging.
the prince is already there. he has dropped her twice, cedar tells me. i am already running up the stairs even though i can barely breathe. i hear her crying through the door and i don’t need to get ready – the fire that starts in me burns so brightly.
i roar inside. turn dragon and beat back prince with girl made rage. the bruises on her body turn me into giant snake. i eat the man alive, or at least i chase him from the place, never to be seen again. later i will hear a rumor about a demon that stole the princess from him.
she cries into my arms. i take her down every single stair. i hear her murmur her thanks into my hair and then i kiss her, because i can’t handle it, because i have places to show her and she has my heart to lead.
my house isn’t much but it’s near a river. she likes putting her hands into it. i take her places when she is able, and otherwise i bring the places back. we read books together. cedar no longer works for the queen, but he’d rather live with the man of sawdust making tiny wooden figurines.
i lie in bed next to her, stroking her soft hair. “do you think i was a centaur in a past life?” she asks.
“definitely,” i tell her, and kiss her, gently. she holds my face and pulls herself closer to me.
“will i be a good queen? i mean, in this life?”
“i’m certain of it,” i reply. i can hear the truth ring in it. the bone-deep certainty.
she’s quiet for a moment. “you saved me,” she whispers, “and usually we’d end up married. but…”
i don’t know how to answer that. i feel ice down my spine suddenly.
“i’m not demanding, is all,” her voice shakes, “i’m asking this time. for you to choose me. for me to be yours, i mean. and for you to be mine. permanently.”
the next birthday we celebrate, we are both queens.
thisacelovesheadcanons 